When I was in 8th grade, I found out a couple of months before school got out, we were moving to Florida. I wasn't as pissed off as my sister was- it was going to be her senior year of high school- but I have to admit the idea of making new friends two weeks before starting high school was daunting. I had built a community of friendships my whole childhood, having always lived in the same neighborhood and same house. My best friend threw me a huge going away pool party. I know, it's not a big deal in Florida. But in New York, where not many people had pools it was a pretty big deal. In fact, I'd say only 10-20% of the kids there even gave a shit I was leaving. The others just wouldn't pass up the chance to party. Welcome to Long Island.
I remember feeling sad and scared. At that age, goodbye was pretty much goodbye forever. I would no longer have family in the town I grew up. My dad had already moved to Manhattan. And let's face it, many of those kids were not real friends anyway. But I was off on an adventure to my new life in Florida, and I would at least try to keep in touch with my best buddies. It took a little time to appreciate my new home, but I would eventually come around. A good dose of reality can help you adjust to anything pretty quickly.
All I could think about the first two weeks in Florida, was what my friends were doing back in New York. I hadn't yet made any new friends because the first day of school was still two weeks out, and I didn't know anyone other than my cousins who were several years older than me. My sister was kind of busy being ticked off at my mother, and though we loved our grandparents dearly, living with them wasn't helping our social lives. Our new home was not ready yet, so we were staying with them in a 55 and older community. Anyway, I was regularly calling my friends back home. And remember, this is all prior to online social networks or even cell phones. I would call and often they wouldn't be home. Done. I had to wait for a call back or try again later. When I finally reached someone it was sometimes awkward. I had nothing much to talk about except how much I missed everyone, and all they had to say was how life just kept on going in my absence. At least that's what I heard and felt. My world stood still and theirs just kept on turning. It's painful as a kid. When you're young you expect your friends to be forever, loyal to the end. Looking back almost 30 years later, I understand kids are kids.
But later in my life I would find myself in a similar circumstance. Let me first fill in the blanks. Soon after high school started, I was able to let go of all those friends from my childhood (I would later reconnect with many of them, thanks to Facebook), because I started to make new ones. I came to terms with this new phase of my life, and realized it was me who moved so things changed for me. All my friends were in the same place and they had to continue living life.
What could have been an awkward first year in high school- new place, new friends- turned out to be great. On the first day of school, both lost but not together, both looking for the gym and not able to find it, I met the girl who would become my best friend in high school. With some other friends, we kind of formed a quad of best buds. We were really close, like the Sex In the City girls only a lot less cosmopolitan. We had four great years and remained close into our early adulthood. We all stood up for each other at our weddings, and supported two of the four through untimely deaths of their mothers. They got excited when I was the first one to get pregnant, and we were equally excited as they subsequently got pregnant. They kept going, and each had three children.
By the time my son was in 2nd grade we were moving. My mom and one of the other girl's mom remained in the town where we all went to high school, and they were all relatively close by too. My husband and I moved across the state, which is only a little over two hours mind you, and it seemed like my friends were on the other side of the earth. What was already a friendship of sporadic phone calls and catching up whenever we could, soon became happy birthday text messages and likes on Facebook. And they were all there, and I was here. Visits were few and far between and all centered around major life events, like baby showers and funerals. And I was always going there. No one ever came here, except for my son's 8th birthday party a few months after we moved. "Let us know next time you're in town [to see your mother]," was all they would say. No one ever invited me for no reason, and no one ever wanted to come out to where I live. It was expected that I would just plan to visit when I was in town to see my mom. And it started to make me sad. I reached out a couple of times and it always felt great again, like no time had passed. That's the kind of friendship it was.
But then months became years. My son, the oldest of all the children between the four of us, was preparing to become a Bar-Mitzvah. I was so excited. I worried about how we would afford to pay for all the people we wanted to invite, but I wanted all three of the girls there with their husbands and all the kids. All of them were invited. I was hoping they would make a weekend of it so we could all hang out. The event was becoming a weekend celebration anyway, with the party and other events at a local hotel. I was disappointed when I learned the three of them were coming alone. No children, no husbands. It's okay, I thought. I was glad they were going to make it. And as we gathered in the synagogue and we prepared to get started, I noticed there were three people missing. They hadn't made it. Saddened, I let it go because I was focused on my son and his special day. When it was all over and we greeted guests following the ceremony, I learned they had arrived late. They didn't even hear my son chant Torah. I tried to suppress my continued feelings of disappointment, and instead focused on being happy they were there. They stayed for the first couple of hours of the party, and they left. Just like that, they were gone. "We have a long drive back." And I knew that was the beginning of the end.
Since then, I continued to make effort. I attended the next Bar-Mitzvah in line with my son who also wanted to go. Two of the girls have remained very close and their families spend time together. The third has remained in contact as well, but I guess didn't spend much time with them. We were seated together. I felt out of place, like a distant relative who gets an obligatory invitation. I was no longer part of their world, and I guess they were not part of mine. And I felt a pit in my stomach, and was kind of anxious to get home. My son had to be home for a scouting event of some sort, so after the ceremony we stayed for a good deal of the party and then said our goodbyes. The whole way home I thought about this friendship. It was a real one. It was the lifelong sisterhood kind of friendship. Now I was mourning the loss. It made me sad their kids don't even really know who I am. You know this when you're introduced to their kids as, "Remember my friend, Laurie?" and they look at you with the nodding head and the blank smile. The next Bat-Mitzvah invitation came some time later, and rather than make up some excuse and lie, I told my friend the truth. My son and husband would be out of town that weekend and I just wasn't comfortable coming alone. I never heard from her again.
Two of the three keep in touch on Facebook. One of them I've talked to more often, we have some stuff in common professionally and have talked about job-related things. She moved out of state last year. She was the only one who even acknowledged my birthday last month. I don't even think I got the obligatory FB Happy Birthday from the other two. It's strange. It's not about the Happy Birthdays, it's the fact that no one's even faking it anymore. I've thought a couple of times about reaching out, trying to reconnect and make sure it's time and distance that have kept us apart and not hard feelings. Getting into our forties and having parents in their seventies, I fear the next time we see each other may be when one of us loses a parent. I couldn't imagine hearing such news and not going over there to see them. And I don't know what keeps me from trying. I don't know if it's fear of hurting or being hurt. I've been wanting to write this piece for months, maybe even a couple of years, and I just couldn't do it. Until now. I'm learning how big my brave can be. Maybe soon, I'll be brave enough to reach out to them directly. After all, these weren't little kid friends from my youth, they were my girls. They've been out of sight but have never been out of mind.
No comments:
Post a Comment